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Battle 




REVISITED A SECOND TIME, 



...BY.. 



THOMAS McMANUS, 



LATE MAJOR 25th CONNECTICUT VOLUNTEERS. 



MARCH, 1897. 



Hartford, Conn. : 
The Fowi^er & M11.1.ER Co., Printers and Pubushers, 341 Main Strb:bi. 

1898. 



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PREFACE. 



To My Regimental Comrades: — 

In February and March, 1896, I vis- 
ited the scenes of our campaign of 1863 
for the first time in thirty-three years, 
and spent about three weeks in that 
delightful country. On my return I 
published an account of my visit in a 
little pamphlet for gratuitous distribu- 
tion among my former comrades. I 
made a subsequent visit to that region 
in February and March, 1897, and my 
reminiscences of this visit were pub- 
lished in a series of contributions to 



The Connecticut Catholic in October 
and November, 1897, and I now have 
collected them, in pamphlet form, and 
these are also intended for like gratui- 
tous distribution among my old and be- 
loved and alas! rapidly disappearing 
fellow soldiers of the Old Twenty-fifth 
Regiment. It is a plain recital, but I 
believe you all will be pleased to read 
it, and I wrote it, and now publish it, 
especially for you. 

Your affectionate Comrade, 
THOMAS M'MANUS. 



BATTLE FIELDS OF LOUISIANA. 



CHAPTER I. 



At 8:30 a. m., February the 24th, 1897, 
I started for Louisiana, to visit again 
the battle fields of the 25th regiment. 
At New Haven I found to my surprise 
and delight a son of one of my old 
comrades: his wife and daughter were 
going by the same train with me to 
New Orleans. My valued friend. Fa- 
ther DeBruycker of Willimantic, had 
already gone to New Orleans about two 
weeks before, and I anticipated a very 
delightful time In Louisiana in his 
company. Our train left the depot at 
Jersey City at 4:43 p. m. Next morning 
at 5:50 we were near the dividing line 
between Virginia and North Carolina. 

I found among the early risers a 
young lawyer of Charlotte, N. C, Mr. 
T. H. Sprinkle, who gave me valuable 
information concerning the present 
condition of the country through which 
we were passing; also, Col. J. L. Black 
of Blacksburg, a prominent officer of 
the Connfederate army, a graduate of 
West Point, and an ardent admirer of 
ex-Senator W. W. Eaton of Hartford, 
whose acquaintance he had formed in 
his Congressional service. Here at 
Blacksburg is the residence of Mr. 
Jones, formerly superintendent of the 
Connecticut Western R. R., a former 
resident of Hartford. 

About six miles from Kings Moun- 
tain Station is the old Kings Mountain 
battle ground, which was an important 
position during the Revolutionary War. 
Col. Black showed me from the car 
windows at Salisbury, the birthplace of 
Gen. Andrew Jackson, a modest log 
cabin. Between Greenville and Atlan- 



ta I noticed that the numerous hill 
sides were thoroughly cultivated in 
terraces circling around the cone-shap- 
ed uplands. 

The crop is principally cotton. Col. 
Black informed me that the cotton crop 
in North Carolina is more than double 
what it was before the war, and that 
already there are more than one hun- 
dred cotton mills in North Carolina. 
The mills are rapidly increasing in 
number, and spin a very fine strong 
thread, and they are annually increas- 
ing their capabilities. Soon they will 
be able to utilize the labor of the col- 
ored young girls and will be formidable 
rivals to the mills of Massachusetts, 
Rhode Island and Connecticut. 

I met here on the train two young 
French priests one of whom had land- 
ed at New York only two days before. 
Both were bound for New Orleans, to 
give their services to missionary work 
among the negroes of the Gulf States. 
My total ignorance of the French lan- 
guage, and their limited knowledge of 
the English, deprived me of what oth- 
erwise would have been a profitable 
conversation for me, and possibly in- 
teresting to them. 

At 4 p. m. we reached Atlanta. 
Around here the superstructure of the 
soil appears to be solid rock, from miles 
above to miles below the city. At this 
point we changed Our watches and 
robbed praeteritum tempus of an hour. 
Our chase of Old Sol had left us far be- 
hind in his race, yet we had gained an 
hour over our friends at Hartford. 

As we were leaving Atlanta, on the 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



•outhern edge of the city's suburbs, a 
stone of two inches or more in diame- 
ter, came crasliing through oue of the 
plate glass windows, filling the lap of a 
young lady who was sitting in the seat, 
with crashed glass, and alarming all 
the occupants of the car. Fortunately 
no harm was done. The stone was evi- 
dently thrown by some representative 
of the omnipresent and irrepressi- 
ble American bad boy. This 
being the sole exciting incident of the 
trip, we passengers felt that we had 
been very fortunate. Next morning at 
5 a. m. we were whirled along Biloxi, 
and soon afterwards we passed Pass 
Christian, both pretty rural watering 
places, and favorite summer resorts 
for the people of Mobile and New Or- 
leans, Biloxi and Pass Christian will be 
remembered by the veterans of the 9th 
Conn., as this was the scene of their 
earlier engagements with the Confed- 
erates in 1862. At 7:45 a. m. our train 
arrived at New Orleans station, where 
Father DeBruycker was awaiting me. 
After breakfast we visited Capt. Wm. 
Wright (formerly of the 9th Conn.) at 
his office in the Custom House. He 
Informed me with great pleasure, that 
he had had a visit a few days previ- 
ously from Hon. Alfred E. Burr and 
his brother, Franklin L. Burr, both of 
whom had spent a short time in New 
Orleans on their way to Hot Springs, 
Ark. 

Our next visit was to Archbishop 
Janssens, who had as guest, the Papal 
Legate Archbishop Martinelli with 
whom I had a pleasant half hour's con- 
versation. He is a delightful gentle- 
man with fascinating manners, speaks 
our language distinctly and correctly, 
although slowly and with evident care. 
He possesses the rare and happy fac- 
ulty of putting people at once at ease, 
and dissipating the natural embarrass- 
ment usually attendant on an inter- 
view with high church dignitaries. He 
had been in New Orleans for a few 
days, and had evidently employed his 



eyes and ears to excellent purpose, and 
had a very good memory. I had the 
good fortune to see and hear him often 
before I returned home. 

Like as at my visit of a year previ- 
ous, I had arrived on the threshold of 
the Carnival— (Mardi Gras— or as pro- 
nounced here Mordy Grau) and desira- 
ble lodgings were difficult to obtain 
and very expensive. Three hours' 
search resulted in my selecting a room 
on Royal street. No. 938, with a Creole 
family, consisting of the grandmother, 
the mother and five children ranging 
in age from nine to twenty-two. The 
street and building were typical of the 
old city, no space between the dwell- 
ings — the inevitable balcony or gallery 
in front and rear at every story, and 
in the rear yards the high brick party 
fence, and tall wood cisterns in every 
angle. 

An inquiry at the office of the Pack- 
ett Co., as to when the "Paul Tulane" 
would sail, brought answer that her 
sailing days were over, and that she 
lay at the bottom of the Mississippi, 
having been snagged in July, 1896. 
Capt. Campbell and the officers of the 
"Tulane" were now on the steamer 
"Whisper" which had sailed the even- 
ing before, and would sail again from 
New Orleans on the coming Monday. I 
had allotted much of my expected 
pleasure on the association of the up- 
river trip with the "Tulane" and its 
officers, and I determined that my trip 
to Port Hudson would be deferred till 
Monday. 

I went to the "Grunewaid" to dinner, 
meeting on the way Capt. James C. 
Britton of Hartford, who was officially 
in New Orleans in the service of the 
U. S. department of labor. The balance 
of the day was spent in strolling 
around and refamiliarizing myself with 
the streets and buildings. I stepped 
into Col. Amand Hawkins' store in Ca- 
nal street (dealer in antiquities in 
which he is regarded as the best known 
authority in the country south of 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



Washington) whose store is the most 
interesting and best arranged museum 
of historical curiosities in the South. 
The colonel gave me a pair of buttons 
from the uniform of Lt. Col. Chas. D. 
Dreaux, 1st La. Battalion, and the first 
Confederate officer killed in action dur- 
ing the war. (Killed July 5th, 1861, near 
Newport News.) Among the historical 
curiosities in his possession, Col. Haw- 
kins showed me the silver medal that 
by vote of Congress in 1829, was struck 
off and ordered to be presented by Gen, 
Jackson, then President of the U. S. to 
the Indian Chief Oceola — the medal 
was buried with Oceola on Sullivan's 
Island, and subsequently was pilfered 
from the grave by prowling resurrec- 
tionists, and in time fell into the hands 
of Col. Hawkins. I have ever since re- 
gretted that I neglected to take a full 
description of this most interesting 
relic. The colonel introduced me to 
Mr. Eustice, brother of Sen. Eustice of 
Louisiana. Mr. Eustice informed me 
that his family were from Connecticut. 
Archbishop Janssens will be met every 
day on the principal streets and never 
without one or more persons with him. 
If he stops to speak to anyone, he is 
the centre of a group in a minute, ev- 
erybody wants the pleasure of a grip 
of his hand, a word of greeting, at 
least a recognition, all of which the 
Archbishop is ever ready to give to 
prince or pauper with equal cheerful- 
ness. 

It is one of the charms of the New 
Orleans people, that the well to do, both 
men and women, have the art of speak- 
ing with and noticing their poorer ac- 
quaintances in public places, and on 
the street, without the faintest sugges- 
tion of lowering their dignity, while the 
poorer people never show the slightest 
evidence of presumption in reciprocat- 
ing. Politeness is inborn with these 
people, and they have learned it as 
ope learns a language. I was surprised 
to see none of the loafer class. You of- 
ten pass groups of negroes or whites. 



especially on the levee, but while sug- 
gesting resting from work, and even 
idleness, they never suggested loung- 
ing or loafing. They will be good na- 
tured, chaffing, joking, or as the Irish 
people of forty years ago would have 
expressed it, "Mobbing one another," 
but never annoying the passer-by. 

The Catholic Winter School was to 
open on Sunday, Feb. 28, and this had 
brought to the city many Bishops and 
priests from other states, and during 
the continuance of the school, every 
church or chapel had three, four or 
even more masses at its altars every 
morning. St. Mary's chapel adjoining 
the Archbishop's residence on Chartre's 
street, had often times three masses 
by three different Bishops at three dif- 
ferent altars said simultaneously. The 
week day early masses were gen- 
erally well attended by women, though 
a respectable attendance by men was 
never wanting. 

Charters street is not as wide as 
Asylum street in Hartford. The resi- 
dence of the Archbishop is one hun- 
dred feet or so back from the street, 
the intervening space being given up 
to a grassy lawn, dotted here and 
there with clumps of shrubbery and 
tenanted by a couple of graceful deer. 
This is hidden from the street, by a 
brick wall of eight feet in height; in 
the centre of its line is the lodging of 
the porter, an old French soldier who 
is the pink of military accuracy and 
dignified politeness. 

The word in letters of eight or ten 
inches in length "Archeveque" on the 
surface of the pavement, is sufficient 
to indicate the house and its occupant. 
.The main residence, brick and stucco, 
two stories high, was formerly a con- 
vent of the Ursuline nuns, the building 
itself is evidently over one hundred 
years old, and shows little or no evi- 
dence of having been materially altered 
since its erection. 

During the day I called on several old 
friends, among them Captain Wright 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



of the Ninth Connecticut regiment, who 
presented me with a stout oaken cane 
made from one of the original timbers 
of Admiral Farragut's famous war 
sloop Hartford. It is as hard as iron 
and almost as heavy. Colonel Hearsey 
was sitting as usual behind the editor- 
ial desk of the "States Democrat," and 
he entertained me with an interesting 
account of his visit to Hartford many 
years ago. 

I could not neglect looking into St. 
Patrick's church, thereby recalling 
memories of Father Mullen, the bluff 
old pastor who was parish priest in 
1S63, and for several years previous, and 
who is remembered as a somewhat 
stubborn secessionist by almost every 
member of the Connecticut 9th. 

As soon as General Butler took pos- 
session of New Orleans, with his army 
in April, 1862, it became the fad for ev- 
ery self-styled union resident to pay 
off his old scores against his personal 
enemies by going to Gfeneral Butler, 
and entering complaints against them 
for some real or pretended act of dis- 
loyalty to the Union cause ana it be- 
came customary also for some soldiers 
to make like charges against citizens 
who committed acts of contempt 
towards the Federal government, or its 
flag, or its defenders. 

An Irish soldier had died and his 
comrades prepared for his burial in the 
Catholic cemetery without having tak- 
en the trouble to arrange with Father 
Mullen, who was in charge, and who 
had been tendered no evidence what- 
ever that the man was entitled by ec- 
clesiastical laws to Christian burial in 
consecrated ground. Father Mullen, 
forbade the opening of the grave in 
that place, until such proof should be 
furnished. The soldiers instead of re- 
garding -the rules of the church 
promptly lodged with General Butler a 
complaint of disloyal behavior against 
Father Mullen, who was peremptorily 
summoned to appear before the gen- 
eral. He at once reported and re- 



quested to know for what he had been 
summoned. "I am credibly informed," 
said the general, "that you have re- 
fused to bury Union soldiers." "Your 
information is wrong," said Father 
Mullen; "I assure you that nothing 
would give me greater pleasure than 
to bury you all." General Butler rec- 
ognized the blunt honesty, though not 
the patriotism of the reply, but it is 
said that an understanding was soon 
reached, and no disagreement existed 
ever after between the two distinguish- 
ed men. Father Mullen was succeeded 
in 1863 by Father Dynott, a Belgian, 
who wore a monstrous jet black beard. 
The visitor from the north will be sur- 
prised at the number of priests here 
who are full bearded. Among distin- 
guished ecclesiastics here, I met the 
Bishop of a Southwestern diocese with 
a beard like a Persian. 

The first sensation to a stranger m 
passing along the narrow streets is 
that of personal danger at the intersec- 
tions. The gutters at the curb stones 
are from 14 to 18 inches deep, and the 
cast iron plate cross walks over them 
are seldom wide or entire, and are lo- 
cated generally with reckless indiffer- 
ence to oontinui'ty with the line of the 
sidewalk, and one instinctively looks 
carefully at the pavement just ahead 
when traveling over them after night 
fall. 

I saw to-day a poor blind negro feel- 
ing his way along one of the narrow 
streets, and a poorly dressed Irish wo- 
man near by was carrying a bundle 
of sticks that had evidently been gath- 
ered from some building in process of 
repair. She laid her bundle aside, and 
taking the arm of the sightless old ne- 
gro, conducted him in safety over the 
dangerous crossing, to the sidewalk 
on the other side, and returned to her 
burden. There was a grace and dignity 
in the way in which she performed this 
act of charitable politeness that was 
incomparable, and the old recipient's 
thanks were rendered in a manner that 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



Chesterfield himself might have envied. 
Such a sight in Hartford would have 
(most probably) provoked a grin of rid- 



icule. Here, not even the street gam- 
ins, appeared to consider it so unusual 
as to even attract their notice. 



CHAPTER II. 



On Sunday, Feb. 28, the opening of 
the Catholic Winter school occurred at 
the Cathedral. Through the thoughtful 
kindness of Archbishop Janssens, I 
was furnished with a ticket which gave 
me a seat in the middle aisle, within a 
few feet of the chancel rail. Ear'y in 
the morning I had visited the vast 
building for the purpose of studying its 
architecture and decorations. The 
seats, and space in front, were well 
filled with worshippers of every con- 
dition in life, engaged in their silent 
devotions. Several groups of tourists, 
who had evidently come to the city for 
the carnival, were strolling through 
the church, most of them ezhibiting a 
discreditable ignorance of common po- 
liteness and a total want of anything 
like reverence. They would pass on and 
stop as they pleased regardless of the 
convenience of the kneeling worship- 
pers around them, and chatter their 
comments on every object of interest 
or curiosity, as freely as if they were 
at a country fair. They made no apol- 
ogies for crowding through the kneel- 
ing throngs before the chancel and I 
saw more than one of these groups look 
at the worshippers with contemptuous 
sneers, then turn with a giggle and tit- 
ter, and converse audibly to one anoth- 
er, on the manners and garb of indi- 
viduals near by. 



Can anyone explain how it is that so 
many who, in ordinary society deport 
themselves with propriety, never seem 
to realize that a Catholic church or 
congregation, even during the most im- 
pressive service, is entitled to common 
respectful behavior from them. 

The high mass began at 10:30 a. m., 
the long line of ecclesiastics, led by the 
Marine band from one of the French 
war vessels, then lying in the river, 
marched from the Archbishop's resi- 
dence, to the Cathedral, and up the 
very broad aisle to the altar. The ma- 
rines, sailors and state militia stood 
all through the service in the broad 
aisle. Artillery boomed from a battery 
on the levee. The bells rang in the 
towers and the Cathedral was filled 
with music from band,organ and choir. 
The scenic effect of 'the grand altar 
with its hundreds of lights, its masses 
of flowers, the multitudes of ecclesias- 
tics of every rank, from the childish al- 
tar boy to the Papal representative, 
who celebrated the mass, altogether 
made one grand picture, such as few 
people ever look upon, and no one can 
see without the deepest emotion, and 
when at the solemn moment of Oonse- 
cration, the military simultaneously 
presented arms, the battery on the le- 
vee proclaimed it audibly for miles 
around, while within the walls, silent- 



10 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



ly and almost breathlessly, knelt the 
gathering- of many thousand worship- 
pers. I felt how powerless is word or 
pen to properly describe the majesty 
or impressiveness of the scene. 

Bishop Dunn, of Dallas, Texas, was 
the preacher, and among the people 
present were manj^ of the civic digni- 
taries of the city and state, and sev- 
eral officers of the IT. S.army and navy, 
and of the French war vessels that 
were lying in the stream. Archbishop 
Janssens addressed the people after 
mass. His manner and style are pecu- 
liarly his own and add greatly to his 
irristible attractiveness. 

I viS'ited the Orphan Asylum for Col- 
ored girls, managed by a community 
of nuns, all colored ladies. My visit- 
ing hour would have been regarded as 
inconveniently unreasonable in society 
here. Father De Bruycker celebrated 
their morning mass on Monday, March 
1, and I attended at 6:30 a. m. The 
chapel, clean as hands could make it, 
was filled with neatly arrayed colored 
girls, ranging in ages from 8 to 16. The 
Sisters were all well educated ladies. 

When I was leaving the convent af- 
ter mass, I found the front door lock- 
ed, and the Lady Superior rang a bell, 
and soon a bright, handsome Sister 
hastened into the hall with the key. 
"This," said the Lady Superior, intro- 
ducing her, " is Sister St. Peter— we 
have given her that name because she 
carries the keys." "Ah, Sister," I re- 
plied, "your title is a misnomer." 
"Why?" "Because you are letting me 
out. St. Peter employs his keys only 
to let good people in." Aside from the 
care of the orphans, these Sisters have 
a very large day school for colored 
children. 

The previous evening I had attended 
a reception given to the Papal Legate, 
by the alumni and students of the Jes- 
uit college, at the College hall on Ba- 
ronne street. In response to an ad- 
dress of welcome, by Judge Semmes, 
the Legate spoke in Englisb and ex- 



pressed his delight at the evidence that 
he saw everywhere of zealous interest 
and effort in the cause of Christian 
education. Among the guests were 
several American and French naval 
officers from the "Maine," "Texas" and 
from the French war ships, and also 
several army officers from the barracks 
at Chalmette. 

The carnival began early on Monday 
morning, March 1. Every man, woman 
and child in New Orleans feels obligat- 
ed to participate in some way in this 
annual festivity. The youthful 

masqueraders display themselves, 
clothed in grotesque costumes long be- 
fore daylight. The side walks are 
crowded early with pedestrians, and 
balconies are erected wherever there 
is room. Canal street looks like Penn- 
sylvania avenue in Washington on In- 
augural day. King Rex and Queen 
Re'gina, who are to rule the city from 
this time until midnig^ht on Tuesday, 
will make their triumphal entry at 
noon, landing at head of Canal street. 

I strolled to the river side. Every- 
thing that could float was utilized from 
the palatial steamer to the most dimin- 
utive skiff. The great father of waters 
is grimly rolling on and increasing his 
height day by day, and already the 
people are apprehensive as to his in- 
tentions concerning his final level. Its 
surface is yet far below the top of 'the 
natural bank, and many more feet must 
be surpassed before the danger line on 
the levee's face will be reached, but the 
mighty stream never makes a speedj 
halt when once it "has commenced to 
mount upwards. It will continue rising 
for many a week to come, this is sure.I 
went aboard the steamer "Whisper," 
and on the upper deck found my friend, 
Capt. Campbell, formerly of the "Paul 
Tulane," and saw here and there the 
familiar faces of his mates and clerks 
with whom I sailed a year ago. I re- 
ceived a warm greeting from every- 
one. The boat will start for Bayou 
Sara at 5 p. m. and I engaged my berth 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



11 



to the amazement of everybody, for 
they cannot comprehend that it is 
possible for any one to voluntarily 
leave New Orleans on the first day of 
the "Mardi Gras." But I had seen the 
whole thing one year ago, and know it 
by heart. I secured a good seat on the 
upper deck and watched the arrival of 
the Royal fleet--the dingy fog covers 
the river, thickened with the smoke of 
many steamers. As the fleet appears, 
turning around the bend two miles be- 
low, a thousand steamer whistles break 
forth in hoarse roar, fierce screech and 
shrill pipe,— the concordant calliope 
and discordant multiplex gong do their 
best or worst— nothing else on earth 
can equal the din— the war ships belch 
forth thundering salutes, gun succeed- 
ing gun with incredible rapidity — the 
yards and sides of the ships are man- 
ned—the levee is packed with columns 
of soldiery— foot and horse, and spec- 
tators of every condition and color in 
tens of thousands— a crowd such as can 
be seen no where but in New Orleans. 
Levee and side walk crowds, are thick- 
ly sprinkled with Mardi Gras badges, 
gilt, silver, brass and copper of vari- 
ous designs. One of the steamship 
companies had placed a beautiful 
ocean steamer at the service of the Pa- 
pal Lega;te. Archbishop Janssens and 
visiting friends. I was honored with 
an invitation to be one of the party, 
but felt compelled to decline as I had 
made arrangements to leave for Bayou 
Sara in the afternoon. 

Sitting on the upper deck watching 
the roustabouts load up, I was greatly 
amused at the methods resorted to in 
getting the mules to venture over the 
gang plank. The old soldiers who serv- 
ed in these regions during the war re- 
member the many laugliable incidents 
attendant on loading or unloading 
mules. It was then not unusual to see 
a score of negroes vainly endeavoring 
to persuade one mule to go aboard. 
Shouts, pus'hes, lashes and lifts were 
fruitless. The rigid hind legs, with a 



backward brace could resist easily a 
force that could have snapped an Iron 
rod as big as the animal's shank. Now, 
like everything else in Louisiana, old 
methods have given way to the march 
of education. A diminutive cowboy 
mounted on a diminutive White horse 
rode over the gang plank, and tbe 
mules in lines of two, four or six as the 
number might be, followed with as 
much docility as so many Sunday 
school children going to a picnic. I no- 
ticed that there didn't seem to be much 
enthusiasm among the roustabouts 
towards getting employed for the trip 
and attributed it to the desire of re- 
maining in the city and witnessing the 
festivities of the carnival; one of the 
boat clerks told me that the boys had 
struck for hig'her pay. Everything was 
quiet however. The mate lounged on 
the gang plank and the roustabouts 
lighted their pipes and gaily chaitteid 
together. The mate meant to have a 
crew. The crew meant to go anyway, 
but to get bigger pay if possible. Oc- 
casionally, one would speak to the 
mate, go back to his companions, and 
after a little it was evident that the 
unanimity of sentiment on their part 
was dissolved and soon one came 
aboard, then two or three followed in 
a very little time, bye and bye all; the 
lines were cast off and our "Whisper" 
headed up the river with one sole pas- 
senger, but with an unusually heavy 
freight. 

Tuesday, March 2, on rising at 6 a. 
m., I found the river surface covered 
with thick brown fog, the boat was 
yet many miles below Dohaldsonville, 
fwhich we afterwards passed about 9 a. 
m. Here the Bayou Le Fourche forma 
an important outlet to the Gulf, run- 
ning south through Assumption par- 
ish, and between Terra Bonne and La 
Fourche interior, emptying "its waters 
into the Gulf of Mexico. A considera- 
ble part of Old Fort Barrow yet remains 
on the north side of the Bayou, and the 
draw bridge is yet standing and in con- 



12 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



stant use. Our boat soon reached a 
camp by the river side, that suggested 
former war days. Thirty or forty tents 
were occupying the land between the 
levee foot and river bank. Tliis was 
Donovan's and Daly's levee camp, a 
colony of colored laborers who were re- 
pairing levees. Most of the men were 
at their work, but the women hastened 
from their tents to the landing and 
chatted garrulously with the rousta- 
bouts on board and flung jokes and 
chunks of wit back and forth. I paid 
less attention to w^hat they said than 
to their movements. Many of them 
were wondeix)usly graceful and moved 
with a dignified and stately step that a 
society belle might envy. Almost every 
little landing place is a picture in it- 
self. "Orange Grove" has an unrivalled 
group of live oaks. Evan Hall is a 
beautiful village on the west side of the 
river. Although so far from the sea, 
flocks of seagulls are flying high over 
the river and the mate tells me that he 
has seen them as far north as Vicks- 
burg. We pass, but make no stops at 
the Leper hospital, which is in charge 
of a community of nuns from New Or- 
leans. Our boat is so slow that it is 7 
p. m. before we reach "Plaquemine," 
where the U. S. government is building 
locks and endeavoring to make naviga- 
tion possible from the river, over into 
Grand lake and the "Atchalfalya," just 
now, however, the water is too high, 
and the soil too friable and solvent and 
the grade from the surface of che Mis- 
sissippi too quick to permit any pro- 
gress to be made and very soon all 
work must cease, at least until June or 
July, when the flood shall have subsid- 
ed. No chance of a familiar glance at 
Baton Rouge to-night. I return to my 
room and listen to the musical cadence 
of the engines, and flnd on awakening 
at 2:30 a. •!. that we are just passing 
Baton Rouge — and at 4:30 a. m.,we pass 
Prophets Island, and it is 6:30 a. m. be- 
fore we reached Bayou Sara from 
which place I intended to drive down 



and over Thompson's Creek and enter 
the old Mississippi stronghold by the 
same route, that our regiment entered 
it in May, 1863. The weather, however, 
looked unpropitious and I decided that 
I could not run the risk of a Louisiana 
road in a storm of rain, and so I de- 
cided to remain aboard and leave the 
boat at Port Hickey on the return trip. 
The fog was very thick and great drops 
were condensed so that it was almost 
like a shower on deck but it cleare^d 
away soon after 8 a. m. and this gave 
me a good opportunity to observe the 
encroachments that the rising waters 
were making in the banks w^hich crum- 
bled away before our eyes, great mass 
es containing many cubic yards drop- 
ping with heavy slump into the swift 
and heavy current as it rolled along. 
Every here and there new levees had 
been built far away to the rear of the 
old ones — some of which were already 
near the rapidly approaching cur- 
rent — many of these new levees 
had left stately mansions, now 
abandoned, standing between them and 
the river, houses that within memory 
had stood many a rod back from the 
old levee. Wherever the stream directs 
its course it forces its way, and every 
new freshet of more than usual height 
leaves immense bays cut far inland, 
where but a few weeks before were fer- 
tile plantations of cane, cotton or rice. 
In future years these new channels 
will have been again abandoned by the 
river, the entrance above and exit be- 
low will have filled and closed and have 
left curved inland lakes miles in leng'th, 
wide and deep as the original stream, 
by and by to be broken into again by 
the spring overflow of a neighboring 
bayou and forming an exit possibly in- 
to the Mississippi miles below or possi- 
bly into the Grand Lake which empties 
eig'hty miles west of New Orleans into 
the lower waters of the Atchalfalaya. 
Nothing will more readily represent 
these changes in the water courses of 
Louisiana, than to watch the irregular 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



13 



courses of the stream on the panes of 
a car window, during a rain shower. 

It is a study to watch the move- 
ments of the roustabouts, and to note 
with what shrewdness even in their 
hardest worlc and swiftest movements, 
they husband their strength, as they 
run ashore with a heavy bag of cotton 
seed or rice on their shoulders. They 
turn and run back to the boat, every 
joint loose, and they move to the right 
or left with a sinuosity of motion that 
does not detract in the slightest from 
their strength and they seem to slide 
rather than run on the gang plank, 
back to the deck where as they whir] 
along they receive another bag or box 
on their backs and trot back to the 
shore, without the faintest signs of 
weariness, although their bodies are 
exuding perspiration at every pore. 

The gang plank is narrow, jet the 
returning roustabout will wind serpen- 
tinely through the shore bound laden 



procession like an eel, with never a col- 
lision, reminding one of an endless 
chain; no one shows any sign of being 
winded — a white man would die, or at 
least faint in his tracks, in attempting 
to do What these fellows accomplish 
with ease, and when all is done and 
the boat backs away from shore, they 
are spread out over the loading, ap- 
parently fresh and chafflng one another 
as cheerily as if they had no cares in 
life. 

The negro is musical, — and music to 
him means more than sound, it is har- 
mony and sweetness, seldom joyous, 
but al'ways sweet. The moment he is 
aroused, he shakes sweetness of sound 
from every movement, and the burden 
of his song is love or nature. I have 
one piece of advice to give my North- 
ern friends who do not know the ne- 
gro. Do not try and hamper him by 
artificial rules — let him expand and 
grow just as he is. 




14 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



CHAPTER III. 



Just before we reached the landing 
at Port Hickey, one of the negro wait- 
ers on the boat came to me and asked 
if I could give him a copy of the book 
of my trip a year ago. I was surprised 
and asked him if he had seen me the 
previous year. He said, "Oh, yes, I re- 
member you and Father Quinn — and I 
heard Capt. Campbell read your book 
and I wanted one.' I had just two 
copies remaining, and I gave him one 
and at the same time gave him the 
customary tip, slightly inflated, and he 
refused it not. We landed at Port 
Hickey which is at the extreme lower 
end of Port Hudson Bluffs, grip sack 
In hand I mounted to the top, and there 
at a very primitive country store in- 
quired if I could get accommodations 
for the coming night and also a car- 
riage and horse to drive around the 
place. The clerk who was a very fine 
looking young fellow, told me that he 
was sure that Mr. Slaughter would ac- 
commodate me, and offered to take me 
at once to his house, just up the bluffs. 
I went with him to a plantation man- 
sion, built of brick with a spacious ve- 
randa and a beautiful combination of 
garden, lawn, and forest between the 
house and road. I sat on the porch, 
while the clerk hunted up Mr. Slaugh- 
ter who soon appeared— and to whom 
I stated my situation— he called a ne- 
gro boy, and just then Mrs. Slaughter 
and one of her daughters came in, and 
the ladies received me not as a strang- 
er but as an honored guest. 1 was 
struck with the charming gracefulness 
of these people, which, however, is typ- 
ical of the Louisiana people every- 



where. The boy brought around the 
carriage and horses, and Mr. Slaugh- 
ter, telling his wife we would be gone 
for a couple of hours, invited me to 
drive and I g-ot into the carriage. A 
very few minutes drive brought me to 
the lower ravines where the Confeder- 
ates had their batteries 34 years ago. 
It actually looked as if nature, antici- 
pating the struggle of 1863, had espe- 
cially provided for this event. The ra- 
vine and bluffs show the most perfect 
arrangement for defense that can be 
imagined, and the most perfect shelter 
for a garrison. The Federal troops so 
entrenched would never have been cap- 
tured except by famine and in truth it 
was by famine largely that the garri- 
son of the stronghold was finally sub- 
dued. We drove out of the ravines up 
onto the plain table land across which 
the Confederates had built their semi- 
circular parapet that stood with its 
convex confronting us in 1863. A drive- 
way now occupied the site of the old 
formidable defense and a sugar mill 
stands near the place where was once 
the old sally port and entrance. Cane 
is growing on the fields over which 
Federal and Confederate shot and shell 
were then flying. Bit by bit as we drive 
to the north, the sugar fields become 
familiar and as we drive we approach 
an immense ravine. I asked my friend 
to stop and look over to the east and 
north. I saw the very tree at which 
I had stationed Lieut. Converse of 
Windsor Locks, with a powerful spy 
glass on May 25th and 26th to watch 
the enemy on the main works fronting 
the open plain. I asked Slaughter if 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



4jf 



15 



just before us was not where we open- 
ed the fig'ht on their rifle pits as we 
closed in on May 24 and he said, yes, 
this is the very place and those rifle 
pits are to our rig-ht and left just 
ahead. We drove on 'and down the hill 
to the ravine ahead with the trickling 
brook at its bottom, where we stopped 
and looked back and the scene of 34 
years ag'o is as distinct as if it had 
happened yesterday. The chang-e I 
perceive is, that on the west, the roa.d 
is changed a few rods to the east but 
the old road is there yet and I can 
plainly see in memory, the 24th Conn, 
deployed on both sid.% and Gen. Grov- 
er, his horse just shot under him quiet- 
ly surveying the open g-round in front 
while the shot from Confederate bat- 
teries, sweeping the ravines between 
his advanced position and the head of 
our column. 

We drove across the ravine and up 
to the high ground on the other side. 
The woods were partly standing- on tiie 
west side of the road, where I remem- 
ber the 25th was ordered to occupy on 
that Sunday afternoon when we open- 
ed the assault. We drove off towards 
our then rig'ht, throug'h the thickets 
and fields as far as our horse and car- 
riage could go. The scene is startlingly 
familiar, but the heat of the day of 
March 3, is too powerful to allow me to 
explore the way again afoOt. I can see 
the whole road to the turn of the slope, 
down which we then advanced. V/e 
drove back into the village of Port 
Hudson. One of the first persons I saw 
was old Mr. Miller, my Confederate 
friend of a year before, who was sitting 
before his grocery store. He gave a 
genuine start and s'hout of surprise as 
he saw me. 

My host, Mr. Wm. S. Slaughter, 
whose hospitalities I was ihen enjoy- 
ing, had served with his broLher Joseph 
m the g'arrison at Port Huasun during 
the seige in 1863. Their father owned 
the plantation that includes the lowor 
half of Port Hudson, part of which lies 



in the parish of East Feliceana and 
part in that of East Baton Rjuge, the 
two sons in common inherited this his- 
toric ground, and their beautiful resi- 
dences are standing near one another 
en the lower bluffs facing the Missis- 
sippi river at Port Hickey— and in full 
sight of the new made land that 
stretches out to the west, from one and 
a half to two miles in front of the old 
formidable bluffs of Port Hudson, oov^ 
ei'ing the bed of the deep Mississippi, 
and now overspread with forest and 
meadow, and fields of cotton and corn. 
Our old battle ground is now one vast 
oane and cotton field-— with an immense 
sugar mill and cotton gin thereon. The 
newly made land is rapidly increasing 
on the Port Hudson side of the river, 
and it will be no surprise to me, to find 
in another year that the immense 
freshets of March, April and May, '97, 
will have reiached out a quarter of a 
mile or more to the west, and fully as 
far southward. We went doM-n under 
the bluffs and drank from the old 
spring that was on the river's brink 
until the river inclined Itself away 
from the heights. The roof of the old 
depot of the now extinct Port Hudson 
and Clinton R. R. is yet standing. The 
cattle have appropriated its ruined 
w^alls as a shelter from the heat. Be- 
side it, yet remains the track way of 
one of the heaviest Confederate guns — 
the grazing cows stray fearlessly to 
the edges of the clay cliffs and browze 
along their tops. The two young men 
who accompanied Father Quinn and I 
here one year ago, came down into the 
plain to meet me again and accompany 
us around. Mr. Slaughter and I went 
to his home for dinner. Mrs. Slaughter 
and her two daug^hters and niece were 
there and a dinner was spread that 
w^ould have excited surprise and ad- 
miration in Paris itself. Such fish and 
eggs — Heublien's was nowhere. Such 
fowl and ham — but it was Ash Wednes- 
day, and I could not partake, but I 
could and did admire; and such charm- 



16 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



ing people— we all sat out under the 
roof of the broad veranda until late, 
looking on at the shining surface of 
the broad and swiftly flowing Missis- 
sippi fifty feet below. My host showed 
me an immense scar on the corner of 
his dwelling house where a ball from 
one of our heavy batteries had grazed 
the house, and splintered off a strip of 
the brick wall two feet long, but only 
three inches thick in its widest part. 
The brick walls were fairly pock-mark- 
ed by the bullets from the fleet in the 
river; walking near the house I noticed 
a clump of reeds, and suddenly remem- 
bered my promise that I would bring 
home to Hartford some of these as 
canes for my old comrades. I re- 
quested a young man (Schraeder) who 
■happened to be close by, to cut for me 
about one hundred and fifty of them 
and in less than half an hour he had 
them at the house, and next morning 
they were on their way by express to 
Hartford. 

Sitting here on this broad veranda, 
and amidst these surroundings, seemed 
like dreamland. The moonbeams 
sparkled through the foliage of live 
oak. magnolia, pecan trees, shrubbery 
and evergreens. The hedges of Che- 
reokee rose line the road, the air is 
fairly languorous with the heavy per- 
fume of the yellow jasmine. My charm- 
ing hostess entertains me with recol- 
lections of her visits many years ago 
to her friends in Rhode Island. 

I was charmed with the graceful 
ways of the young ladies. Their man- 
ner was that of people accustomed to 
a constant residence in places where 
the auxiliaries of opera, drama, public 
library, social gatherings, etc., were 
abundant. They all had enjoyed the 
advantages of the best of seminaries, 
in New Orleans and Baton Rouge, and 
the training of the excellent Sisters. 
Yet one would think that living in a 
neighborhood so secluded and quiet 
would necessarily enforce on the resi- 
dents an air of rusticity. But a very 



short time in this latitude, will satisfy 
everybody that the Southern lady has 
the aid not only of grace but also of 
nature. She grows up attractively; it 
is in the air and surroundings— these 
misses had been an hour or two before, 
with the mother engaged in household 
duties, and in this they were as grace- 
ful and attractive as w^hen conversing 
here where I was giving to their father 
•who sits with us, my reminiscences of 
34 years ago, of my doings on this very 
spot, and when he was here, one of the 
garrison on his father's estate. 
,Mr. Slaughter told me that soon after 
the war, an island began to appear, in 
mid stream, opposite the upper part of 
the bluffs, off the mouth of Thompson 
creek, the heavier portion being 
towards the east bank of the river,but 
the channel under the bluffs continued 
navigable until after the heavy freshet 
in the spring of 1880, when the channel 
was closed to navigation and the land 
has been accumulating ever since. 

Mr. Slaughter and I had driven over 
in the afternoon to the National cem- 
etery, which lies near the centre of 
where our army lay in 1863 during the 
siege, about half a mile east of where 
the Confederate outer defences stood. 
The cemetery is inclosed by a neat 
brick wall, and at the entrance is the 
dwelling of the superintendent, a beau- 
tiful cottage, also of brick. The ceme- 
tery is kept in excellent order, but 
most of the graves are unidentified, 
which is no fault of the present super- 
intendent and possibly no fault of his 
predecessors, since it was absolutely 
impossible to identify many of the bod- 
ies. I examined the records to see if I 
could find the names of any of the men 
of my own regiment, or in fact of any 
of the Connecticut regiments. I found 
only the name of Sergeant John Car- 
roll of Co. E, 24 Conn., who was killed 
May 25, 1863, at the rifle pits, out of 
which the 24th regiment had driven the 
enemy the day before. 

Next morning at 7:30 the little mail 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



17 



steamer Clion that plies between Ba- 
you Sara and Baton Rouge stopped at 
the landing-, and I took passage for 
Baton Rouge, arriving there at 10 a. 
m. While awaiting the arrival of the 
boat at Port Hickey, I watched the ne- 
groes loading a flat boat with cotton 
seed in bags at the warehouse half 
way up the bluffs; stout black fellows 
were running to a chute and tossing in 
the bags one after another. These were 
caught as they reached the ground,and 
were swung up on the boat and piled 
neatly and with a rapidity that was 
bewildering and with the regularity of 
machinery. The negroes sang at their 
work— as all the negroes do when at 
any occupation that calls for uniform- 
ity of movement — each song usually 
with a refrain like this: "Oh, ho, Black 
Joe, don't let dat yaller girl fool you." 
It was noticeable that no one seemed 
to shirk, every one was busy. I had 
hardly reached the upper deck of the 
Clion when the clerk addressed me fa- 
miliarly by name, and inquired if Fa- 
ther Quinn was with me. It semed 
that he, the year before, had met us 
on the Paul Tulane, and like the rest, 
had been captivated by the irresistible 
sociability of the good father. The 
boat had a large number of passengers, 
and after eating an excellent breakfast 
on board, I sauntered Out on the for- 
ward deck and chatted with the officers 
and passengers. The fog was thick un- 
til we reached Elder's plantation, about 
six miles above Baton Rouge, and 
where the 25th had spent four or five 
days on our return from the first ad- 
vance on Port Hudson in March, 1863. 
Right off here is where the burning 
frigate Mississippi exploded in the ear- 
ly morning of April 15, 1863, after her 
unsuccessful attempt to pass the bat- 
teries. We reached Baton Rouge at 10 
a. m. and having but four hours to re- 
main, utilized my time by calling on 
my old surviving acquaintance of war 
days, Mrs. Z. E. Hearcy, who is still an 
invalid, now confined to her bed, but 



cheerful as ever; then, a ride in the 
trolley car out to Magnolia cemetery 
and back by the road, thus having a 
view over the lake at the old Camp 
Grover and then a brief visit to the 
military school, at the old fort bar- 
racks, by the river side. A brief call on 
Col. Nicholson, who has been connected 
with the school for many years, and 
another on Major Boyd, who was tem- 
porarily in charge, and who was ex- 
tremely pressing with an invitation for 
me to pass a few days as his guest, 
Major Boyd served for some time on 
the staff of Gen. Dick Taylor. He re- 
lated to me Taylor's account of the 
campaign in April, 1863 (in which Boyd 
did not participate, he then being with 
the Confederate army in Virginia). 
Boyd was pleased to meet a Federal 
officer, iWho had participated in that 
campaign. Taylor, he said, was the 
most anxious man in the Southern 
Confederacy, when on April 13th as he 
was disputing Banks' advance at Bis- 
land, a few miles below Franklin he 
learned that Grover's division had 
landed by way of Grand lake, and held 
the road above him at Madame Por- 
ter's plantation. He had every reason 
to believe that Grover would at once 
make a stand at the lower junction of 
the new road with the old Bayou road, 
(only three or four miles above Frank- 
lin), or at the upper junction only a few 
miles further above; in either case, he 
would be hemmed in by armies in front 
and rear and escape would be next to 
impossible; on one hand were swamps 
reaching to the gulf, and on the other, 
was a deep bayou. Skirmishers were 
sent up the road who checked our 
army's march, so that it was evening 
before our brigade reached the Bayou 
road of Madame Porter's. This I will 
make mention of later on when I shall 
describe my visit to the battlefield of 
Irish Bend. 

Major Boyd informed me that I 
would find among the Southern people, 
little or no interest manifested in the 



18 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



localities of xne battles and important 
events of the war of the Rebellion. The 
universal disposition being even among 
the surviving Confederate soldiers, to 
eradicate all remembrance of the war 
from their memories. I had noticed 
this sentiment on the occasion of my 
visit a year before to this neighbor- 
hood, and on reflection, I am satisfied 
that it is natural. Such places must 
have no attraction to those who must 
ever associate them with defeat, disas- 
ter and misery. There exists among 
the old home keeping Southerners a be- 
lief amounting in some cases to a con- 
viction that the Northern peopde, are 
filled with dislike to, and distrust of ev- 
ery Southerner, especially every sur- 
viving Confederate. This belief does 
not obtain among those who have had 
the opportunity of travel, or frequent 
association with Northern people, but 
then only a comparative few of these 
people have traveled much outside of 
their own localities since the war, for 
they have not had the means. The war 
impoverished them, and after all, are 
we ourselves appreciative of all the 
historical relics and localities that are 
around us? How many native born 
residents of Hartford can be found to- 
day who are able to direct a visitor to 
the graves of Hooker and Stone — or to 
the historical Webb and Dean man- 



sions in Wethersfield, the scene of the 
most important military council of the 
war of the Revolution— or to the hall 
where was held the famous "Hartford 
Convention" or to the spot where stood 
until a few weeks ago on Main street 
the house in which was born Com. 
James Ward, the first naval officer of 
superior rank killed in the war of the 
Rebellion. Humanity is much the same 
everywhere. 

The planters, and in fact all the peo- 
ple here, black and white are very in- 
dustrious the land is largely under cul- 
tivation, and the work is prosecuted 
systematically; cotton and cane are the 
principal crops, although above Baton 
Rouge, it is close to the limit of the 
cane country, which is wholly within a 
radius of 150 miles from New Orleans. 
One positive indication of prosperity 
and progress at Baton Rouge was the 
improvement in the Catholic church 
edifice. That has undergone a complete 
transformation — the roof has been 
raised, Cathedral glass windows have 
been inserted, a graceful spire now sur- 
mounts the church tower and the brick 
walls have been encased in durable 
stucco, inside and out. The rector's 
hou^e, however, is just as it was in 
1863 — ^only 34 years older, and is sur- 
rounded by the same unpainted high 
board fence. 




BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



19 



CHAPTER IV. 



I returned by rail to New Orleans, 
arriving at 6:30 p. m., and on the fol- 
lowing morning, March 5, I went to the 
Archbishop's chapel and was present 
at three masses all proceeding at once. 
The Papal Legate, Archbishop Marti- 
nelli, celebrated at the main altar. Bish- 
op Maerschetz at one of the side altars, 
and Chancellor Thebaud at another. 
Usually there are one or more masses 
in progress here every week morning, 
from 6 to 8 a. m., and the chapel is 
filled with worshippers coming and go- 
ing, chiefly working people, men, wo- 
men and children, black and white. 
Nearly all of the people of this city ob- 
serve the reverential custom of salut- 
ing as they are passing the churches, 
the men removing the hat, the women 
by a cour'tesy. A call at the Archbish- 
op's house about 10 a. m. disclosed, 
sitting in the upper hallway that opens 
to the outer gallery, the most distin- 
giJRhed gathering of ecclesiastics it had 
ever been my experience to meet social- 
ly, and also the most dem'ocratic group. 
Besides the Legate, were Archbishop El- 
der of Cincinnati, Bishops Byrne, Heshn, 
Dunn, Maerschetz, Dr. Rooker, of the 
University at Washington, and Father 
C'hadwick of the U. S. Navy, besides 
several e'cclesiastics of the household. 
My natural embarrassment at intrud- 
ing into this assemblage was dissipated 
by the cordiality with which I was re- 
ceived by every one, and I was warmly 
invited to sit down and be one of the 
party, but I excused myself, and joined 
my friend. Father DeBruycker, in a 
walk around the city, visiting among 
other places of interest, the Confeder- 



ate museum, where among other ob- 
jects of interest, I saw the standard of 
St. Mary's cannoniers which was cap- 
tured by the 13th Conn, at Irish Bend, 
La., April 14th, 1863, and was kept 
among our trophies at the State arsen- 
al at Hartford until 1887 when by reso- 
lution of the legislature, it was return- 
ed to the veterans of the old St. Mary's 
organization at Franklin, and by them, 
placed in this museum. 

During the day I had a call from the 
widow and daughter of one of the 25th 
Regiment, Jos. G. P. Summer of Co. 
A, who after the war, settled in New 
Orleans, and eventually died at Hous- 
ton, Texas, in 1896. This was the first 
time the lady had ever met a comrade 
of her husband's regiment. 

On Saturday, March 6th, I set out for 
the Teche country, taking the ferry at 
the foot of Esplenade street. The 
crowds that had filled New Orleans 
during carnival week, were returning 
to their homes, and the big railroad 
ferryboat was filled with passengers, 
and on reaching Algiers they made a 
mad rush for the cars. It was my 
luck to get a seat with a veteran Fed- 
eral soldier, formerly of the U. S. Col. 
Vols, who at once recognized my M O. 
L. L. U. S. button, and gave me a dose 
of garrulity that didn't have a pause 
till we reached La Fouche crossing, 
near Thibodeaux. He gave me the his- 
tory of his life, before, during and since 
the war, in which he had served on 
both sides, and stuck at last to the 
side from which he now draws a pen- 
sion. I was immensely relieved when 
he changed cars for Houma. Bayou 



20 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



Des Allemands, 30 miles or so west of 
New Orleans, spreads out just above 
the crossing into a lakelet, dotted with 
islands, which are occupied by tiny- 
cottages, that give the place the look 
of a Lilliputian fairyland. 

The water of the bayou and all the 
bayous are surface covered with the 
water hyacinth, a most beautiful 
aquatic plant that was unknown here 
a dozen years ago, and was introduced 
by a lady who brought home some spe- 
cimens from their native habitation, 
and from these they have propagated 
in such profusion that they have liter- 
ally filled the streams, and have be- 
come such an obstruction to naviga- 
tion that the legislature has been com- 
pelled to enact stringent statutes pro- 
viding for its extermination. The beau- 
tiful lily lies on the surface, its 
long tendrilled root hangs down two 
or more feet in the water, each termi- 
nated by a bulb and so closely massed 
that they in many places cover the 
bayou surface from shore to shore like 
a great flowered carpet, and give no 
indication to the unwary rambler on 
the bank that a step more to the right 
or left may plunge him into ten feet 
of water. This tough vegetable tangles 
the paddle wheels of the steamers, and 
effectually stops the smaller ones. The 
surface is sufficiently firm for the moc- 
casin and smaller hydra, to wiggle 
along in the sunlight without smking. 
I saw no moccasins as it was early in 
the season, but the hyacinths were 
there and a beautiful sight they were. 
La Fourche crossing and Bayou Boeuf 
looked no different from what they did 
a year ago. My trip was rendered very 
pleasant from La Fourche crossing, 
where my colored veteran left the 
train, by conversation wath a Belgian 
priest, whose parish was up in the 
Teche country; there were also two 
young Dominican fathers — the Revs. 
Knapp and Gill, who were going to 
commence a mission next day at New 
Iberia. Rev. Knapp w^as an English- 



man and Rev. Gill was of Irish descent 
born in Canada, where both priests 
now belong. They had been but a few 
weeks in Louisiana, yet they aston- 
ished me at the fullness of their knowl- 
edge of the country, with which they 
appeared thoroughly familiar. They 
knevv' its geography, its history, its cli- 
mate, products, industries, manufac- 
tures, soil and its people, as well as if 
they had lived there all their lives. I 
now begin to understand St. Paul when 
he said that he had become all things 
to all men, that he might save all. 
These priests came here and learned, 
that they might be able to teach. 

One peculiarity in the garb of the wo- 
men impressed me. All over the state, the 
white women of the poorer class, wear 
habitually garments of black, with 
black short capes and black sun bon- 
nets, and this habit gives an air of re- 
spectability to even the poorest people. 
You will see plenty of evidences of pov- 
erty-, but seldom of untidyness, slack- 
ness or slovenliness that is so offensive 
to the eye. In the city and in the coun- 
try it is the same; the character "lady" 
seems imprinted on every feminine 
form you meet. At noon our train 
rolled over the bridge that spans the 
mighty Atchafalaya, between old Ber- 
wick and Brashear, now called Morgan 
CityJnquiring of the railroad officials,! 
learned that the stream here ranges 
from one hundred and ten to one hun- 
dred and twenty feet in depth, and the 
soft muddy bottom made it essential 
that the piling should be over two hun- 
dred feet in length — that is, five and 
six piles should be driven, one spliced 
on the top of the next lower, and so on, 
until firm bottom is reached. On rolled 
our train, here and there in sight of the 
Teche Bayou through Patterson, now a 
flourishing village, and through Calu- 
met and the battle field of Bislands 
plantation, where the massive live oaks 
shade the graves of so many of the 
boys of the blue and gray w^ho fell on 
April 13th, 1863, and on to Franklin, 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



21 



which place I reached at 1:30 p. m. 
FroTn the car window I espied my old 
friend, Mr. William J. Brady, the liv- 
eryman. I at once climbed into his om- 
nibus and asked to be driven to O'Neil's 
hotel — "The Emmet" — where everybody 
from the proprietor to the bootblack 
recognized me, welcomed me, and in- 
quired for Father Quinn. The weather 
looked threatening-, the clouds hung 
low 'and black, and the prospect of get- 
ting to Irish Bend was very poor. I 
ordered dinner, and requested Brady 
to come with a team at 4 p. m. if the 
rain held off. Sitting at the dining- 
room window, I looked down at the 
Bayou Teche, on whose bank were the 
boilers of the old "Queen of the West" 
that had been lying at the bottom of 
Grand Lake from April 14th, 1863, until 
November, 1895, when the government 
had caused them to be raised and re- 
moved, as they had become a serious 
obstacle to navigation, having sunk in 
the mud until they were below the sur- 
face a;t low water. Between three and 
four o'clock, Br'ady appeared with a 
buggy and I concluded to risk the 
■weather and we started for Irish Bend. 
By the time we were passing Senator 
Caffery's residence, it was evident there 
had been rain, the mud was soft and 
deep, and we progressed slowly. The 
spare timber that had skirted the ro'ad 
a year before, had all disappeared, and 
I looked in vain for the cut-off load by 
which General Dick Taylor had escaped 
with his army, while he with a detach- 
ment was making his desperate and 
successful attempt to hold Grover's di- 
vision from crossing through the 
woods that existed right here in 1863. I 
remarked to Brady that we must now 
be where the woods were then. Brady 
is a man not over thirty or thirty-three 
years old, and he could give me no en- 
lightenment, and so I failed to discov- 
er the cut-off road. The mud, our slow 
progress, the closed carriage, and the 
gathering mist all confused me, but as 
we proceeded and found a broad cane 



field on my left, I announced to him 
that this was the field of Irish Bend, 
and my judgment was confirmed when 
a few rods further on our road turned 
abruptly to the north. A little ways 
above the angle was a store, I recog- 
nized as the same one where Colonel 
O'Neil and I stopped a year ago, and 
which was then kept by a young man 
from Georgia. We enquired for him 
and found that he had sold out but a 
few months before, and a stranger to 
the country was proprietor. A motley 
crowd of blacks and whites filled the 
inevitable piazza, and from them I 
asked the location of the old sugar mill 
in the opposite field. Imagine my con- 
sternation when I was told that no su- 
gar mill ever existed there. In vain 
I asserted that I had been there the 
previous year and had seen its ruins. 
The crowd insisted that it must have 
been further up the road; not a man in 
the party had ever heard of any sugar 
mill there. A negro of 'sixty years of 
age came by on horseback, and I en- 
quired of him. "He had always lived 
here; was born here, never no sugar 
mill here, but there ha.d been one half 
a mile up the road, the old Bellevue 
mill." I asked about the battle. "Oh! 
that was fought all around here." Can 
it be, said I, that my senses are mock- 
ing me? I know this is the place, but 
anyway I will drive on to "Bellevue." 
and so our wearied horse dragged the 
carriage on through the deep Louisi- 
ana mud. A mile further on we reached 
what was called "Bellevue," but this 
was on the east side of the road, and 
just beyond appeared through the trees 
the facade of a stately mansion. I en- 
quired what place this was, and was 
answered that it was formerly "Mad- 
ame Porter's plantation." "Is there a 
bridge here over the Bayou?" "No, 
there is one half a mile below." I in- 
sisted that there had been a bridge in 
1S63 just north of this mansion, and one 
of the old negroes admitted that some 
of the piling of that old bridge was yet 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



Standing. Turning around I said to 
Brady, I have been right all the time; 
we fought that battle of Irish Bend a 
good mile and more below Madame 
Porter's mansion. I remembered that 
we crossed the Bayou just before dusk 
on April 13th, 1863, having marched 
over from Hutchin's landing on Grand 
Lake during the day, and we encamped 
in the field across the road opposite to 
Madame Porter's and broke camp at 
daybreak April 14th, and the 25th Con- 
necticut led the march down through 
the field, on the right of the ro'ad. 

Our right wing deployed as skirmish- 
ers with Colonel Bissell at the head, 
and the left wing marching battalion 
front, and nearer the road. Brady now 
turned our wearied horse to the south, 
and when we reached the store we 
stopped and alighted. All Louisiana 
cannot change my opinion now— right 
here is where we changed front, for- 
ward on first company, and called in 
our skirmishers, and facing the west 
marched down to that tall green wall 
of trees, with its crooked rail fence 
backed by tangled evergreens at its 
base, where Dick Taylor's Louisiana 
and Texas troops awaited us. 

As we alighted from the carriage, a 
young man was coming out of the field, 
and Brady addressed 'him as Tom, and 
introduced him to me as Thomas B. 
Mattingly, son of the owner of the 
plaritation. Tom had been hero only a 
few years; he had heard that a battle 
had been fought somewhere around 
here, he never knew precisely where, 
and he said he would give a good deal 
to know the ex'act location. "Well, 
Tom," I said, "just come back into the 
field with me, and I will convince you 
that this is the very spot where one of 
the fiercest fights of the whole war was 
fought, in proportion to the men en- 
gaged." 

Thirty rods back from the road, just 
in the rear of the immense stables, a 
wide deep ditch commenced, extending 
to the west; on its .south bank was a 



line of brick foundation, extending 50 
to 60 feet. '"Now, Tom," s'aid i, "that 
is the north foundation wall of the old 
sugar mill, that was used at the battle 
as a hospital. Go over the grounds 
south of this ditch and you will find it 
filled with the ruins of the old sugar 
mill." "We went over, and the area of 
the old sugar mill was distinctly 
marked by the ruined and crumbling 
brick, covering a quadrangle of about 
50x150 feet and interspersed here and 
there were old bolts, nuts, and bits of 
iron rods rusted almost to dust. A few 
rods to the southwest w"as the dried 
bed of an old sugar mill pond, which 
Tom said he had noticed, but had never 
before thought of, how or why it was 
there. I showed him the battle line oc- 
cupied by our brigade, its r'ight being 
about on this ditch, and its left cross- 
ing the road over to the Bayou, and I 
showed bim just Where the line was 
that in 1863 separated the woods from 
the cane field. Tom said he had often 
noticed in plowing while it was clear 
soil this side, east of the line I pointed, 
beyond it he had eneounxered so many 
stumps. Now it was evident to him 
that west of the line was forest land, 
long after the east was cultivated. 
"Well," he s'aid, "I wouldn't have 
missed your being here to-day, for a 
great many dollars, for I always want- 
ed to know the location of the battle 
you speak of, and no one here was ever 
able to tell me." The fact is, that most 
of these people are new comers and the 
natives are all too young to know much 
about it, and anyway, the people don't 
take much interest in matters like this, 
but, said he, "I now have the satisfac- 
tion of knowing that if any visitor 
comes here I can point out the place 
with certainty, and can give them my 
authority— a federal officer from Con- 
necticut, who was in the battle, and 
the confirmatory evidence of the ruins 
of the old mill that I myself have seen." 
,It was dark when I left the field, I 
was glad that I had visited it, aside 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



23 



from, the matter of sentiment, for I be- 
lieve that this memorandum of mine 
may decide the question of its location 
many years hence, when it may have 
become a matter of importance. I 
know that very few of our Federal of- 
ficers who were at that battle have re- 
visited the place, and few of those who 
did have taken any p'ains to make it a 
matter of record. 

It was 7:30 p. m. when we returned to 
Franklin. After supper, I found a par- 
lor full of people, awaiting- me. Colo- 
nel O'Nell and his wife and family, my 
friends of a year ag^o, Captain Van 
Schouler and his wife, with several oth- 
ers. Of course, everybody's first en- 
quiry was for Father Quinn, and re- 
grets at his absence were numerous 
and sincere. 

After a pleas'ant evening and a re- 
freshing night's sleep, I arose next 
morning (Sunday, March 7th) and 
found a genuine Louisiana rain storm 
in full force, which continued until late 
in the afternoon. After mass, 1 made 
a call on Father Bri and his niece and 
'housekeeper. Miss Marie, both of whom 
were delighted to see their old ac- 
quaintance from Connecticut. I took 
dinner with Colonel O'Neil, and spent a 
pleasant hour at the house of his son- 
in-law. Judge Clark. I found on re- 
turning to the hotel an invitation from 
Mr. Brady and his wife to spend the 
evening with them. Upon reaching his 
house, I found a large party of young 
ladies and gentlemen, including three 
charming misses who had been my fel- 
low travelers from New Orleans to 
Franklin the previous day, and who 
were sisters of Mrs. Brady. Her broth- 
er was also there, the present mayor of 
Franklin. Almost everyone of the par- 
ty was an accomplished musician, and 
the ladies were all excellent singers. 
Throug"hout the state I 'had noticed the 
fact that a large proportion of the wo- 
men I met were good musicians. It is 
a very poor residence indeed here that 
has not a piano, and there are very rew 



young women, even of the very poor 
families, who have not spent some time 
as pupils in the convent schools. The 
family of Mayor Tarlton are grandchil- 
dren of the noted novelist, Madame De 
La Housse, whose works, written in 
French, are well known and popular 
throughout Louisiana. 

On Monday, March 8, I spent the 
forenoon in strolling throug^h the town, 
and calling- upon some of my acquaint- 
ance's. I found the proprietor of the 
store on the Bayou wharf. Captain De 
La Housse, who was a Coniederate cav- 
alryman and had participated in the 
battle of Irish Bend, "w^hich fact was 
enough to keep him and me in extend- 
ed reminiscences, with a good sized au- 
dience. One of the youngsters pres- 
en't remarked that he hoped some day 
our country would g-et into war with 
some foreig-n power and that he would 
like to take part. Captain De La 
Housse said: "Well, boy I once felt and 
talked as you do, but I have gotten 
over it. I have seen lots of others who 
felt so then, but they feel as I do now, 
and you will feel the same way if you 
live long enoug*h. I have seen all the 
war I want. It's much ple'asanter to 
see the major here in my store than it 
was 'to meet him and 'his comrades as 
we did thirty odd years ago, up above 
here three or four miles." Every vete- 
ran of that Tec'he campaign that I 
met, and I met very many, spoke of it 
without any enthusiasm, but rather like 
men relating a wearying, toilsome and 
unpleasant experience. The field of 
Irish Bend is seldom revisited by any 
of its survivors. There are many living 
at Franklin, and who have always lived 
there, who could not probably point out 
the exact field to-day. T'hey don't care 
even to think of their old army experi- 
ence, which gave them little glory, but 
neither profit nor pleasure. 

A hurried visit to Captain Schouler 
and his wife, another Colonel O'Neil's 
family, and to Father Bri, a hurried 
inspection of the immense sugar mill at 



C.4 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



Senator Caffery's place on the northern 
edge of Franklin, where Colonel O'Neil 
and I received the very kindest atten- 
tion from Mr. Forsythe. the superin- 
tendent, and 1:30 p. m. found me speed- 
ing northward for New Iberia with Fa- 
ther Bri as mj' seatmate as far as Jen- 
nerette, a growing place of about 2,000 
inhabitants, and on the line of our 
march northward from Irish Bend thir- 
ty-four years ago, and near to the fa- 



mous Sorel plantation. The sugar field 
continues to occupy the land on every 
side. The continuity of level surface 
begins to be broken. Here and there 
are ravines leading towards the small- 
er bayous, tributaries of the Teche. The 
hedges of Cherokee Rose and yellow 
jasmine stretch out longer and they 
are wider at the base and higher than 
ne-arer Franklin and the Gulf. 



CHAPTER V. 



At 2:27 p. m. we reached New Iberia, 
Which has spread out on every side 
and rooks vastly different from the lit- 
tle hamlet at which our regiment halt- 
ed for a night in April, 1863, when we 
were making forced marches to over- 
take General Dick Taylor. The village 
now ex?tends across to the east side of 
the Teche, over which are convenient 
bridges. At the docks were large 
steamers, that looked strange in this 
narow thread of a stream. The town 
tells of enterprise in every detail. New 
buildings are going up in every street. 
The Catholic church, as everywhere 
else in Louisiana, is the finest ecclesi- 
astical edifice in the place. I stopped 
at the "Alma," a sort of a connecting 
link in architecture between the coloni- 
al and modern style, standing back a 
hundred feet or so from the main 
street, and having its cool galleries 
projecting from every story, as soon 
as my grip was in my room, I set out 
and visited the office of the Enterprise, 
a weekly paper, edited by J. B. Law- 



ton, who took great pleasure in giving 
me all possible information, especially 
■on learning that I had formerly cam- 
paigned in this region. The industr'ies 
in the neighbor<hood and produce are, in 
order of prominence, sug*ar, cotton, 
corn, rice and lumber — one of the larg- 
est lumber mills in the state being here 
— ^and also a large sash and blind fac- 
tory, an extensive iron foundry, and a 
very large ice factory. St. Peter's 
church, a comparatively new brick 
structure, would be regarded as a fine 
and fitting church edifice in any city — 
it is very spacious, built in modem 
style and tastefully 'fitted. Knowing 
that my Dominican fellow travelers of 
the previous Saturday were to give a 
mision here, I called at the parsonage, 
and found them with the pastor. Fa- 
ther Jouan, and his assistant. Father 
Trainer, and was made as welcome as 
if I had been known for years. Upon 
returning to my liotel I found await- 
ing me an old Confederate artillery 
captain, E. J. King. Editor LaWton 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



had informed him that there was a 
Federal officer at t'he hotel who had 
been here during- the war, and the old 
veteran came at once to see me. He 
had been caugrht at Fort De Russey on 
Red river, a short distance above the 
head of the Atchafalaya, in May, 1864, 
by the corps of General A. J. Smith. 
Orders had been sent to him to evac- 
uate the place with his scanty com- 
mand of two score men, but the mes- 
senger had been captured by the Fede- 
rals, and so the old fellow fought it 
out for several hours, until our troops 
finally effected an entrance over the 
earthworks. A large part of the fort's 
garrison were de'ad or wounded and the 
old captain himself 'had one eye de- 
stroyed. He said that When General 
Smith entered the fort, and saw how 
small the g-arrison was that had de- 
fended it so long, he led the old cap- 
tain out before his men and publicly 
complimented him on his vi'g-orous de- 
fence. This was the end of t'he old cap- 
tain's service. M'ost of his time before 
this had been spent on the gunboats in 
the Red river and the lakes. He had 
participated in the fig-ht ait Butte La 
Rose, a few miles from Barre's Land- 
ing (where the Cortableau joins the At- 
chafalaya) a few days before the 25th 
regiment entered Opelousas. 

Captain King confirmed what I be- 
lieved from my personal observation, 
and from what had been told me by 
many residents the ye'ar before, that 
the social problem is bound to make 
trouble all over the South before many 
years. Just now, by a sort of tacit un- 
derstanding between the two great po- 
litical parties, the working negro is 
not encouraged to go to the polls, and 
the white voters usually fight it out 
alone. Money buys the ignorant black 
voter just as it does the ignorant white, 
and to just the same extent. When 
one of the parties prevails in any sec- 
tion, and there arises an opposition fac- 
tion in the ranks, then the candidates 
enlist the negroes as partisans, the sil- 



ver flies, work stops, and cutting and 
shooting commences, and when this be- 
gins, there are very few citizens who 
have the physical or moral courage to 
do as the late Archbis'hop Janssens did 
in the spring of 1896. He went rig^ht 
among- the lawless crowd at Opelou- 
sas, who with g-uns proposed to shoot 
down the negroes who should approach 
the polls and denounced them to their 
faces as outlaws, and called openly on 
all good citizens to come out and pro- 
tect these poor men in the exercise of 
their rig^hts 'as voters and put down th*^ 
violaltors of the law. The lig-hter 
skinned negroes, the better educated 
and ambitious, are feeling their way, 
and crowding to the front with consid- 
erable audacity, and this is perfectly 
natural with believers in political 
eqality. Many will demand in a few 
years social equality, which is its log^i- 
cal concomitant, especially in localities 
Where the blacks outnumber the whites 
three to one. Nothing but the highest 
wisdom on the part of legislators and 
w^ise citizens will prevent a race con- 
flict within the coming twenty years, 
and this will surely result in the dis- 
franchisement of the neg-roes, and 
when that will occur, the poor negroes' 
last state will be worse than thfi first. 

After dinner, the 'hotel guests sat in 
the cool g-aillery and I had fallen into a 
social chat with a Confederate veteran 
(Colonel D. A. Salles), who had served 
under Dick Taylor in these reg'ions, and 
was well pleased at the opportunity of 
exc'hanging experiences with a former 
opponent when a trio of traveling min- 
strels entered the yard, followed by a 
crowd, and without further ceremony 
they commenced a performance. All 
three had excellent voices, the violin- 
ist was expert, the guitarist was very 
g-ood, and their prog-ram was not bad. 
Their music was, as t'he music of the 
laboring negroes always is, harmoni- 
ous and pleasing. The lads were ath- 
letes and contortionists, and their gy- 
rations excelled in the grotesque. 



26 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



One of them asked for a cigar, and 
having lighted it, began smoking. Af- 
ter a while he perpetrated a hideous 
grimace, and apparently swallowed the 
cigar, but kept on with his part in the 
singing. In a minute more he began 
puffing from his lips thick smoke like 
that of an old-fashioned wood burning 
locomotive, and this was followed by 
puffs of sparks, continued for at least 
a minute after which another grim- 
ace, and the cigar was up in his lips 
again, being smoked in the regular civ- 
ilized fasihion. The negro repeated this 
trick two or three times. I learned 
afterwards that the same trick is com- 
mon with school children, who do it 
with a wad of cotton, which they wet 
on the outside, touch a spark to the dry 
inside, and pop the wad into their 
mouths, blowing showers of sparks un- 
til the inside is consumed. 

I found the customary Southern well 
cooked meals and good service, here at 
the "Alma." The multitude of commer- 
cial travelers here surprised me, but 
my chief surprise was the total ab- 
sence of anything like gambling or 
drunkenness around the hotels. This 
was characteristic of all hote'ls where I 
have sitopped in Western Louisiana. 

At 2:20 p. m. I took the train for Op- 
elousas, which place was the Capitol 
of the state in 1862 and '63. The 25th 
Connecticut encamped here a few days 
in the latter part of April, 1863, at 
viiiich time there was here a printing 
office and newspaper. The last issue 
was published before our entrance to 
the city. It was printed on the back of 
wall paper, and it gave us the earliest 
information of the result of the state 
election in Connecticut and the defeat 
of Governor Tom Seymour. 

The railro'ad runs nearby, and in 
sight of the place where the 25th regi- 
ment caught so close on the rear of 
Dick Taylor's column, that we had a 
spicy little duel across the bayou here, 
just before which, he had destroyed 
the bridge at Vermillionville. and we 



were detained from Friday, April 17th, 
to Sunday, April 19th, before we had 
rebuilt the bridge and resumed our 
march. 

To my delig^ht, I found my friend, 
Bishop Maerschetz, on the train, re- 
turning from New Orleans to his home 
in Indian Territory; he left the train 
at Carencro to remain for a few days 
near Lafayette. This place was the 
scene of a hot fight during General 
Banks's second Red river expedition. 
The face of the country has com- 
menced to change, the forests are more 
extensive, and the ragged ravines are 
more numerous, wider and more 
broken, and the country is less popu- 
lous. 

At 4:30 p. m. we swept through the 
same open grounds south of the city 
where the 25th had encamped. I put 
up at the Larcombe house. The build- 
ing, seventy years ago, was a planter's 
mansion. The columns supporting the 
front portico were great o'aken pillars. 
The ancient stairway leading up from 
the hall to the upper gallery had 
treads of oak, made from two inch 
plank, and were almost worn through 
with long usage. 

My room door opened on to the upper 
gallery. The door itself Was of bat- 
tened oak plank, with an old-fashioned 
lock, the size of and more than the 
weight of a brick. My window fastener 
was a hook, made from half inch iron 
rod, fully two feet in leng'th, with a 
hook that caught into a staple on the 
shutter. No burglar could enter the 
room without making noise enough to 
wake the town. The partitions of the 
room were of oaken plank, so old and 
seasoned that they had become excel- 
lent sounding boards, and I could hear 
the snoring of my neig^hbor guests as 
distinctly as if they had been my room- 
mates. Everything was scrupulously 
clean, the table was excellently fur- 
nished, and the serving and attendance 
were 'all that could be wished. 

I strolled up to the northern end of 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



27 



the town, to revisit the church of St. 
Landry, wliere Major MaJher and I had 
once made a call on the pastors, two 
brothers, Raymond, one of whom is 
still living- at the St. James parish 
above New Orleans. 

,The church itself is just outside the 
northern edge of the city, in a spacious 
green field, the pastor's residence is 
completely hidden in a dense grove 
near by, and a ne'at but old convent 
nestles in another grove 'across the 
road. The church building is of red 
brick, apparently sixty years old, the 
floor is of tiling, the galleries are very 
narrow and extend about half the 
length of the church; the same old ai- 
tar piece, a picture of St. Landry hangs 
on the chancel wall. Before the altar a 
slab is inserted in the wall, to the mem- 
ory of Father Gilbert Raymond, who 
died in 1886. 

I found no one with whom I could 
converse excepting some lads and a 
couple of visitors to the church from 
the neig-hborhood, but they knew noth- 
ing of the time so far back as tha war. 

Here we are virtually outside the 
sugar region; the principal crop is cot- 
ton. The population is about 3,500 and 
while there are some beautiful dwell- 
ings, the place is far behind New Ibe- 
ria or Franklin in progress. The hedges 
of Cherokee rose and yellow jasmine 
are as abundant "here as anywhere in 
the state. The people are more numer- 
ously of the ancient ante-bellum stock. 
Almost every old resident is a Confed- 
erate veteran, and from them yon are 
sure to receive hospitality and polite- 
ness. Knowing that General Frank 
Gardner, Confederate commander of 
Port Hudson, had resided in this neigh- 
borhood, I made inquiries about him, 
and learned that he had died in pov- 
erty 'a few years ago at St. Martins- 
ville. He had eked out a scanty sup- 
port as civil engineer and surveyor, 
and had appeared in civil life but little 
since the war. TVMle one of the most 
famous and able of the Confederate of- 



ficers, he never seemed to possess the 
tact necess'ary for parity popularity. I 
remember having seen him with his 
entire staff as they were on their way 
from Port Hudson to New Orleans, 
prisoners of war, just after the sur- 
rendering, and I never before saw a 
collection of finer or more intelligent 
looking officers. 

Wednesday, March 10, I arose early 
and rode to St. Landry's church, and 
enjoyed a half hour's interesting con- 
versation with the parish priest, a Hol- 
lander, a dignified, pleasing gentleman. 

My driver, Mr. St. Cyr, was an ex- 
Confederate, of French descent, and a 
most interesting conversationalist. He 
had lived here always, barring the time 
of his exper'ience in the civil war, and 
like 'all Confederate veterans that I 
have met an admirer of General Grant. 
Mr. Larcombe, the hotel keeper, was 
Tike him in tJhis respect. 

The court house is a stately building 
in a pretty green in the center of the 
town; facing it is the post office, new, 
modern, and substantial. The streeits 
are unpaved, and in rainy we'ather they 
become soft and batter like to a great 
depth, but they dry up rapidly. 

I wonder if one incident connected 
with this place has clung to the mem- 
ories of others as it has to mine? Our 
brigade encamped at the southern edge 
of the town, which, like all in this 
country, is compactly built, and the 
lines of dwellings end abruptly so that 
you leave a closely built street, and 
perhaps a mile or more will intervene 
between this place, and the next dwell- 
ing house on the road. Our oamp field 
was then, just what it is to-day, an 
open, level field on the west side of the 
main road, with a grove half a mile or 
more farther to the west. We had filed 
in about 3 p. m. and formed camp, by 
right of companies to the rear into col- 
umns, stacked arms, broken ranks, and 
had done our marketing, s'oldier fash- 
ion; i. e., shot the nearest steer or two 
we saw, and had our dinner and usua' 



28 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



dress parade, and rested early. Retre-at 
sounded at sundown, and darkness soon 
g-athered. All around was t'hiat hum of 
early evening conversation, that the 
veteran so well remembers, when sud- 
denly arose the music of "Home, S-^weet 
Home," from the bugle of the nearest 
battery. 

It was the first time since our cam- 
paign had commenced that we had 
heard a note of instrumental music 
other than the marches or calls, in line 
of daily duty and dress parades, and 
these had long ceased to be music to 
the ears of our foot sore and weary 
men. The bugler saJt on a caisson a 
few yards away from our immediate 
group, and beginning with "Home, 
Sweet Home," he poured out the sweet 
melodies so familiar to ears in Con- 



necticut, "Love Not," "Am I Not Fond- 
ly Thine Own?" and many others. Our 
heart strings were Stirred at every 
note and involuntarily all conversation 
was hushed, every eye was closed, and 
our camp was one reverie, the bugler 
alone held our attention until tattoo 
sounded, and it is safe to say that mine 
were not the only eyes that were glis- 
tening with unbidden tears. TTie bu- 
gler's note had annihilated distance 
and set us one and all for a brief hour 
at our own firesides, with mother, fa- 
ther, sisters, brothers, sweetheart.wife, 
all again present to sight and bewar- 
ing. Ever since that time the memory 
of our brief encampment at Opelousas 
is inseparably associated with that ex- 
quisite yet simple poem of Campbell, 
"The Soldier's Dream." 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



29 



CHAPTER VI. 



It would have been pleasant to have 
taken a ten mile run over to the east, 
and seen the improvement at J3arre's 
Landing, now called Port Barre. This 
place is not 'sacred by reason of any 
battle or skirmish, but because here 
we m'ade the longest halt of any on our 
march, and to the government and pos- 
sibly to some individutals the most prof- 
itable. .Here we gaJth'ered in immense 
quantities of sugar and cotton, which 
were sent by TDoat down the Bayou Cor- 
tableau into Grand Lake by Butte 1/a 
Rose to Br'asTiear, thence to be shipped 
by steamer or rail, to New York or Kew 
Orleans. It wa's my luck 1:0 be sent in 
May, 1863, on special service from this 
point to New Orleans, and I had for a 
traveling companion Governor Mouton, 
who was then a prisoner in the custody 
of the provost marshal. By chance I 
was highest in rank of any officer on 
the boa.t, and the governor was left for 
me to enteritain, and I learned more of 
the state and its history and resources 
then than I had ever known before and 
I never can forget the old g )vernor,who 
seemed to know his state and people so 
thoroughly. 

At 1:20 a. m. my train left Opelou- 
sas for New Orleans, I noticed for the 
first time "Spanish Lake" some miles 
above New Iberia. This lake is eight 
or nine miles in circumference and has 
no visible outlet. The same kaleido- 
scopic view was on both sides of the 
track. The almost endless hedges of 
yellow jasmine and Cherokee rose— the 
universal fence by roadside and be- 
tween plantations in the past genera- 
tion, and now gradually giving way to 



the wire fence. The peach trees and 
magnolias were in full bloom. Our 
train whirled along through New Ibe- 
ria at 1:30 p. m. with its fields of vege- 
tables, yams and blossoming pear 
trees. At Franklin, I saw from the 
window my friends Brady. O'Neil and 
young De La Housse. We rush through 
the old Bisland battle ground at Calu- 
met and on by Patterson to Morgan 
City, and the Bra-shear crossing, over 
the Atchafalaya. The old Fort Star at 
Berwick on the east bide of the Atcha- 
falaya still remains in as good condi- 
tion as when our Union soldiers built 
it 33 years ago, and the oTd iron guns 
are yet there, peeping over its para- 
pets towards the south, west and north. 
On the edge of the village stands a 
modest Catholic church, with an Acad- 
emy of the Sacred Heart, under the 
guidance and patronage of that church 
which we, in our youth, were taught 
by our opponents was the relentless 
enemy to education, yet in our matur- 
ity we found to be education's great- 
est patron. Midway between Brashear 
and Bayou Boeuf is Bayou Ramos, on 
whose banks is now an immense saw 
mill, which is rapidly transforming the 
cypress swamp into productive sugar 
plantations. Bayou Bo^uf village has 
become more beautiful, although not 
much larger than it was during the 
war. Around the depot everything is 
arranged with taste, and I contrasted 
it with our huddle of ston-^, brick, wood 
and iron that covers the damp, dark 
dungeon-like affair that we call a sta- 
tion in Hartford. The ponds and ditch- 
es beside the track are beautiful with 



30 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



solid looking- surfaces of water-hya- 
cinths, and I devoutly wished that 
Judge Adams had been able to secure 
them for the Hartford park pond that 
he has already made cosmopolitan 
with northern and semi-tropic vegeta- 
tion. 

Arrived at New Orleans at 6:20 p. m. 
and spent the evening at my room. In 
the morning, March 11, I attended mass 
at the chapel near the Archbishop's 
and learned that the Rev. Father De- 
Bruycker was up the river. I strolled 
out by myself, calling at the custom 
house, and then on Captain Campbell 
on board the "Whisper." Afterwards I 
called on Mr. Morris Smith, an old cit- 
izen of Hartford, who for the past 50 
years has been carrying on business at 
New Orleans, a branch of the firm of 
Smith, Bourn & Co., that was estab- 
lished in New Orleans by Mr. Smith's 
father in 1816. On his office desk was a 
recent copy of the Hartford Daily 
Times, which he has always taKen, and 
from its columns I learned the most re- 
cent news from Har'tford. Mr. Smith 
took me to the Boston club, where I 
met several of the most prominent bus- 
iness men of New Orleans. I met on 
Canal street Father Whitney, a prom- 
inent clergyman of the Jesuit church 
of Barronne street; he is a member of 
the Whitney family of Boston. In my 
stroll, passing the Tulane University 
building, where the winter school was 
in session, I dropped in and listened for 
an hour to Henry Adams, who was 
some time ago rector of the Episcopal 
church at Wethersfield. I met here Mr. 
John Gibbons, brother of Cardinal Gib- 
bons, a most excellent gentleman, and 
modest as a child, and a splendid spe- 
cimen of the cultured and hospitable 
Irishman. 

The "Maine" and "Texas" sailed from 
New Orleans this morning, as also did 
one of the French warships. The river 
was steadily rising, and the people are 
already apprehensive of an unusually 
high freshet this spring. Next morn- 



ing, Friday, March 12, after mass at 
the chapel, I went to the French mar- 
ket and took a street car to the corner 
of Poland and St. Claude streets, 
thence by steam railroad to Chalmette, 
the scene of General Jackson's wonder- 
ful victory in 1815 over the British 
troops under General Packenham. An 
uncompleted monument marks the bat- 
tle line, near which is the National 
cemetery. The railroad is primitive- 
ness Itself, c.nd for roughness could 
compare fairly with a gravel siding on 
a Connecticut railroad in process of 
construction. It is the ideal of hum- 
mickness, and evidently has not had a 
shoxeiful of repair in 20 years, but as 
its rate of speed is something less than 
three miles an hour, and the train could 
be, and generally is, stopped inside of 
five feet, we had no fears of any acci- 
dent, unless it might be from toppling 
over sideways, as we were generally 
leaning at an angle of from 15 to 20 de- 
grees. Al Chalmette is the principal 
cotton wharf elevator and cotton press 
of Louisiana, an immense shed along- 
side which were lying ships of all na- 
tions, among them the "Ramorehe'ad," 
an iron steamship built at, hailing 
from, and loading for Belfast, manned 
by Irish oificers and crew. Officer Gil- 
lilaiid courteously took me all over the 
ship which is 6,000 tons burden. 

From New Orleans to Chalmette the 
road is flanked by vegetable gardens, 
cultivated by thrifty Germans, Who, 
even at this early season, have abun- 
dance ready for the New Orleans daily 
market. The soil here is practically in- 
ex!haustible and there is little danger 
of the country being overcrowded with 
people for centuries to come. It evi- 
dently will bear crops thick as the pile 
on velvet, and as I looked at the coun- 
try, I felt an additional glow of grati- 
tude to the soldiers of the Civil war 
whose patriotic valor saved it to our 
government. I had time on my return 
to make a call on my new-made friend. 
John T. Gibbons, at his store, corner of 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



31 



Poydras and South Peter streets. In 
the evening, with Rev. Father De- 
Bruycker, I spent two hours with 
Archbis'hop Janssens and learned that 
he had been for years a fellow-Student 
with my cousin, Rev. Jonn H. McMan- 
us, at Louvain, Belgium. Father John 
died at Vicksburg- in September, 1878, 
of yellow fever, after having nursed 
the people of his parish througTi the 
scourge, until worn out -^ith his labor 
he expired almost the final victim. 

Archbishop Janssens recalled to my 
memory the miraculous cure of the 
young lady whose name has escaped 
me and of which I was first informed 
by Father Larnaudie about 1868. She 
had been for years sinking with con- 
sumption, at Grand Coteau, La., and 
wasted to the very door of death, giv- 
en up by physicians. The good sisters 
of the Convent of Grand Coteau offered 
for her recovery a novena to Blessed 
John Berchman, since, I believed, ca- 
nonized. On the last day of the nove- 
na, the sick girl instantaneously recov- 
ered her health and strength. Good 
Father Larnaudie at the time sent me 
a full official account of the miracle, 
with the affidavits of the attending 
(non-Catholic) physicians, and also his 
own statement of his personal knowl- 
edge of the case, whicn last alone 
would have convinced me. I loaned 
these papers to a clerical friend at the 
time, who died before their return, and 
I would give a great deal to have them 
again. Archbishop Janssens was thor- 
oughly familiar with the details of the 
case, as are also all of the old residents 
of Grand Coteau. 

March 13, I spent some hours at the 
Archbishop's library, copying the de- 
cision in the Cronin case, decided in 
the district court at Richmond, Va., the 
important point being the privilege of 
communications made to a priest in 
the confessional. Father Prim of the 
Bishop's household kindly relieved me 
of the labor, by taking the record to a 
typewriter, who provided me with full 



duplicate copies before my final depar- 
ture from the city. After dinner with 
Father DeBruycker I went to Algiers 
and after visiting the Fathers at St, 
Mary's church, we called on Captain 
Moxam, now in command of one of the 
Morgan line of steamers and formerly 
of Mystic, Conn., whose pleasant home 
is in Algiers. On the way we met Mrs. 
Bassett of New Britain, Conn., who, 
with her daughter, Mrs. Sage, had been 
my fellow travelers from Hartford to 
New Orleans. The Mississippi river 
looked black and angry, and its rising, 
turbid waters seemed to already pre- 
idCt the havoc they were intending in 
the coming April and May. In the even- 
ing we again visited the winter school 
and again heard Henry Adams, who 
certainly is an orator, and made a deep 
impression on the people of New Or- 
leans. But after all I had rather hear 
Bishop Janssens, Bishop Tierney or Fa- 
:her Qu'nii. H^n^y Adam"^ appeals to 
cur pride while i.hese latter appeal to 
our Cathoricity. Possibly he, as well as 
they, has hi 5 us( fulness. On Sunday, 
Mar^"' li I wnt af*ei- mass to make a 
farewell call on Mrs. Sumner, widow of 
my old CO iirade Joe of the 25tb, but 
fornd 1101^=^ of t.ie family at home. I 
then called on that prince among men, 
Captain Wright, little dreaming that a 
few more days, and he would have 
passed away from this world. The 
captain's home was beautifully located 
and he showed me with pride his bed 
of Irish shamrock growing among the 
grass on his lawn. Inside, his house 
was filled with memories of Connecti- 
cut and his service in Connecticut 9th. 
His albums were full of photograph'^ of 
Connecticut friends, his scr'ap-book full 
of clippings from The Times, Courant 
and Post. On the walls were views of 
noted localities in this state, especial- 
ly in Hartford. Later In the day Rev. 
Father DeBruycker and I visited St. 
Joseph's church and convent, called on 
Father Spillard and spent ou.' evening 
indoors. On Monday, after mass, which 



32 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



was said by Father DeBruycker, at St. 
Mary's chapel, we, accompanied by Fa- 
ther Prim, obtained our tickets via 
Richmond for Washing-ton, and then 
made a call at St. Joseph's school at 
Tulane avenue, where Sister "Veronica 
Sceerey, formerly of Meriden, Conn., is 
a teacher. 

I spent the afternoon (which was very 
hot) in making' some little purchases — 
views of New Orleans and of "Mardi 
Gras" packages of "Perique" tobacco, 
etc., and in making a call on Rev. Fa- 
thers Khippins and Delaney, two cler- 
ical friends of Father DeBruycker, at 
St. Cecelia's church on Erato street. Af- 
ter our return to the city and supper at 
the Archbishop's we took the train for 
Richmond at 7:50 p.m. , 

The two Fathers Thebaud accompa- 
nied us to the depot. The coui-'^esy of 
these two young- men was beyond de- 
scription, and I could not help feeling 
that I was imposing- on their g-ood na- 
ture. I little thought, however, that I 
was parting for the last time with 
Archbishop Janssens, who w^as then 
looking the picture of good health. 
Three months later, June 17th, he died 
on the steamer in the Mexican Gulf on 
his way to New York, and in his death 
Catholicity in America suffered an ir- 
reparable loss. 

After a hot and uncomfortable night, 
we arose on March 16th from our 
berths, our train then approaching 



Montgomery, Ala. Upon looking out of 
our window we found the Alabama 
river on a tear. 

In the toilet room were tw^o chaps 
from Western Louisiana, who had been 
up all night playing poker, one of w^hom 
was entitled to the berth opposite the 
two occupied by Rev. Father De- 
Bruycker and myself. This fellow oc- 
casionally loped Into the car to pay a 
visit to his grip-sack which contained 
a quart bottle of whiskey, and a box 
of cigars, and he invariably struck his 
first shot at Father DeBruycker's grip- 
sack, which resembled his externally, 
and his look of surprise when he saw a 
breviary, cassock and rosary, instead 
of the expected q. b. of w. and box of 
cigars was amusing. Father De- 
Bruycker, with his inimitable conti- 
nental politeness piloted him regularly 
across the aisle to his own grip-sack, 
and our Louisiana friend with profuse 
apologies always tendered us the hos- 
pitality of his q. b. and cigar box, both 
of which we politely declined. At Au- 
burn we saw scores of young men in 
cadet gray uniforms, evidently students 
of the military school there. The ap- 
pearance of the place indicated pros- 
perity. All along the route the land 
was cultivated for cotton, corn and 
the vine. The low conical shaped hills 
were terraced, the furrows running 
horizontally around them from base to 
apex. 1 




BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



CHAPTER VII. 



We passed through Atlanta at noon, 
and by 3 p. m. we were in si^ht of the 
southern peaks of the Blue Ridge tow- 
ering way above Toccoa near the 
boundary between South Oarol'ina and 
Georgia. The road lies much of the 
way against the eastern breast of a 
mountainous ridge, and looking off to 
the southeast shows the most beauti- 
ful of landscapes with a variety of 
form softly bewildering in its succes- 
sion of hill, vale, ravine, plain, open 
fields and masses of fore'st, all fair as 
a garden of the Lord, and all indicative 
of a growing and vigorous prosperity, 
notwithstanding the fact that the om- 
nipresent wandering Willies are found 
on the roofs and trucks of nearly every 
train. Our own was relieved of a score 
or more of these unfortunates soon af- 
ter midnight, but without doubt as 
many more rode with us all the way to 
Richmond. 

Late at night we reached Danville 
and our car was here switched off for 
Richmond, Where we arrived at 6 a. m. 
March 17. Before reaching the city the 
track runs alongside the James river, 
which at this time was swollen by the 
spring freshets and was turbid, turbu- 
lent and tumbling over the rocks and 
stones. On arriving we took a carriage 
for the Episcopal residence and were 
guests of Bishop Vandervyver during 
our stay, which was only for the day. 
I was anxious to see what I could of 
this historic city, which I had never vis- 
ited before. After breakfast we saw 
the capitol, the city hall, the cemete- 
ries, and monuments. The location of 
the city Itself surpasses that of any 



city I have ever seen. It is on a clus- 
ter of high hill tops and affords from 
scores of different points bird's-eye 
views of the winding river and the ad- 
jacent country. The Lost Cause has 
certainly no reason to criticise this city 
as having been forgetful. In the capi- 
tol, While the heroes and statesmen of 
Colonial Revolutionary days have not 
been unremembered, since their por- 
traits look down upon you from every 
wall, it is easy to see tbat the affec- 
tions of the people are chained to the 
Confederate leaders of the Civil war. 

General Lee greets you at every turn, 
in marble, and on canvas and in 
bronze, in bas relief, and engraving, 
and next in frequency to his are por- 
traits and busts of that phenomenal 
warrior of whom (as a soldier) any 
country and any age would be proud — 
Stonewall Jackson. 

This man's features have always had, 
for me, a peculiar fascination. He be- 
longs to the crusaders, his cause to him 
was a religion. In his character were 
mingled all the most excelling elements 
of the Christian hero. Had General 
Charles P. Stone of our Federal army 
been fortunate enough to 'have escaped 
the hostility of a Northern senator I 
believe he would have given to our 
Union army the counterpart of this pop- 
ular Southern idol. On one of the city's 
highest plateaus, in the midst of an un- 
finished park stands a lofty monument 
to General Lee. As we walked towards 
it my ear caugiht the sweet melodious 
tinkle of distant bells, that seemed to 
fill the air above and around, and I, 
for the first time in my life realized 



34 



BATTLE FIELDS REVISITED. 



the sigrnificance of that most musi- 
cal wood aeolian. I stopped and lis- 
tened. It was as if the air were filled 
with an almost inaudible yet loftily 
keyed "Vere dignum et justum est," 
an irregularly reg-ular "tintinnabula- 
tion that so musically swells, from the 
bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, 
bells." Away off in the fields that are 
soon to become transformed into the 
Lee park were herds of cows grazing. 
Each cow with a rustic bell of sheet 
brass suspended from her neck, as she 
grazed over the scant herbage, and 
lifted her head and swung from side to 
side, sounded irregular tinkles to the 
musical chorus that with its notes mod- 
ified by distance from near and far 
blended into the most melodious and 
softest harmony that I had ever heard. 
The sweeifest sounds of peace, under 
the bronze gaze of one of earth's most 
illustrious warriors. 

Bishop Vandervyver took us to the 
Hollywood cemetery on the bank of 
the James, where lie among many oth- 
er celebrities, Jefferson, Monroe, and 
Davis. New England has few burial 
grounds to compare with this in beau- 
ty. It is cliff, slope and plain, ravine, 
glen, and valley skirted by the river 
James, partly in placid pool and partly 
in rock broken rapids. T\^e visited St. 
John's church, formerly the Virginia 
i £.11 of delf^fates, and stood on the very 
spot where Patrick Henry hurled to 
the world his blazing speech that fused 
together the insurrectionary colonies. 
In the cemetery is every variety of 
tree, shrub and flower that can possi- 
bly live in these temperate latitudes, 
and all grouped according to the laws 
of perfect taste. 

We went through the Hotel Jeffer- 
son, whicTi rivals Irving's description 
of the halls of Alhambra. My pen can- 
not describe it. I remember it with its 
interior court, filled with the fragrant 
and brilliant flowers and fruits of the 
tropics, that seem to declare it almost 
a desecration, that under the same roof 



should be such purely secular things 
as kitchen, laundry and the bar. The 
roof is furnished with an audience pla- 
teau and stage, where the guests may 
enjoy opera, drama and concert, and 
may look off over the surrounding 
country that is to-day the most replete 
with thrilling history of any in the 
world. Close around you is the city it- 
self. No American should presume to 
visit Paris, London, Naples or Rome 
until he has first seen Washington, New 
"i'ork. New Orleans, Richmond and 
Hartford. 

I spent the evening at Murphy's ho- 
tel near the Cathedral, and expected to 
find in Murphy, the proprietor, the 
typical Irishman, a general association 
of all the virtues, and he has them all, 
and I almost said many more. Murphy 
is an old (yet not very aged) Confede- 
rate, who fought to the last, and w^hen 
vanquished turned to look for the next 
best way of living in honor, through 
honesty. His hotel is to Richmond 
what Heublein's is to Hartford, and he 
himself is one of the honored institu- 
tions of the old Confederate capital. 

During our ride in the afternoon, 
March 17, the telegraphic despatches 
began to come in, from the grand prize 
fight, and several times we found it 
impossible to get our carriage through 
the crowd which was respectful and 
good tempered, but oh how interested. 
Personally we did not care which had 
M^hipped, Corbett or Pitzsimmons, but 
not so with the crowd, most of whom 
had money — from nickels to fat checks 
— on the result. Even to-day I do no+ 
know who was the winner. Next morn- 
ing at 7:30 we took the train for Wash- 
ington and for three hours rolled 
through the region that thirty-four 
years before was a tract of war and 
desolation. We crossed the Rappa- 
hannock at Petersburg, where imagina- 
tion evoked from bluff, river and plain. 
countless spectres in blue and grey — 
and so I came home. 



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